My son’s graduation was this week.
He’s only 4, and it is pre-school that he is graduating from. Bizarre really, it’s definitely something that wasn’t done when I was his age.
It is something that has probably evolved out of the need these days for us to capture everything in a photo to share online and for the nursery to have pictures they can show on their social media. Whatever the reason, I was expecting a day of immense pride and holding back tears in front of many other happy parents. My son has almost finished pre-school.
It is a milestone for which I arrived on Wednesday with my phone ready to document, but I do not have any photos.
When I arrived at the nursery that afternoon, I gathered outside with other parents as we waited until they were ready for us. I was shocked by the amount of couples there were. As a mother of two children, I always wonder who is looking after the other kid(s)? I know many of the children have siblings; they must have childcare, I thought. I had arrived feeling lucky I could even come, my partner able to work from home, but I felt sad that my partner would miss it, and that I found myself experiencing a milestone alone again. Was this always how it was going to be? Our fault, I wondered, for living miles away from family. As more people gathered, couples started chatting to each other, continuing conversations from times before - they all seemed to know each other, but how? The last time I was stood waiting outside the nursery at pick up time, hovering with other parents, we were wearing masks. I stood scrolling through my phone as I tried to block out the couples’ conversations around me, feeling isolated.
When we walked into the nursery I was ushered aside by a member of the nursery staff and told that my son was “not feeling it.”
I laughed taken back by her serious tone, “Err okay.”
“I just want to manage your expectations,” she said.
As I met him outside the pre-school room, I wondered what it was that I had expected? It’s just a silly pre-school graduation.
He stuck out in his own clothes standing apart from a line of his classmates, all sat wearing bright blue gowns and caps. They waited to the side of the classroom door, as if off-stage. Beyond the door, twenty or so adults filed into the small room, many standing as music blared out of a sound system that I didn’t know existed before.
No wonder, I thought. He’s four and you are wanting him to take part in a formal ceremony that must feel so bizarre and strange to him and it’s noisy in here and who are all these strange people? I told him he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do.
We watched the ceremony from outside the classroom, my son held on to me tightly, looking over my shoulder, demanding in my ear every so often that we should go home, but I wanted to stay. “Let’s just watch the graduation, then we’ll go,” I promised.
My perspective through the window was what the children would have seen. Wide-eyed enthusiastic parents singing along to nursery rhymes, taking photos and videos as their child received their certificate; proud faces and wet eyes.
That is what I expected and I didn’t have it. I don’t know what I felt, really, other than that we weren’t part of it.
I had told myself that I wanted to stay for the party afterwards. I wanted to make awkward conversation with my son’s friends’ parents and eat sandwiches and cake. But the music blared louder so we went home. I had missed yet another chance to make friends with his friends’ parents, whichever ones they were, I didn’t know.
As we walked home, I felt a reluctance in my step; I was disappointed but I brushed it off. It’s just a silly graduation.
Days later the message came through on the nursery app. Did we have any photos that we would like to share?
I felt that pang again as I closed the message, unanswered.
*
I realised that this graduation had brought a lot of old feelings up for me. It wasn’t really about him, it was about me. I hated things like that. Graduations, closing ceremonies - anything where I had to perform. I managed to get out of countless sports days and never put myself forward for any kind of acting, dance or anything. I hated attention on myself. I still do.
It seemed fair, really, that if my son didn’t fancy it either, that he should be able to opt out. In the moment, it seemed obvious to me that my son wouldn’t want to do it. Why would he? Yet I couldn’t help but feel sad.
I stood watching the graduation as an outsider just like I had stood outside trying not to eaves drop on other parents’ conversations. I didn’t feel like I belonged there and the graduation was proof in my mind that I didn’t.
I didn’t go to my secondary school prom after my A-levels because I didn’t feel like I belonged. I didn’t have the money to buy the dress, do my hair or borrow the limousine like many others did.
I went to a grammar school which I had to pass a test to attend, yet because I lived so close, I always had in my head that they had bent the rules some how. That they had let the poor girl from down the road in, because I showed some sort of promise. After all enabling social mobility was what grammar schools were originally intended for. I felt like a charity case.
I was there for seven years and throughout that time made a small number of friends. I actually went out of my way to avoid many of the people there, especially in the last two years when we did A levels, by not going in the common room for example, because I felt like I didn’t belong there - that I wasn’t meant to be there.
I thought that had all changed, but making friends at nursery has been almost impossible. We started the nursery in a pandemic and have since been going less frequently than most. Perhaps there just hasn’t been chance to become part of it properly, or perhaps I am making excuses.
I was upset because I thought my son was feeling the same way as me; that he didn’t belong, but it was probably more down to the weirdness of it all - the noise, the people, the costume.
It wasn’t what I expected, but I realise now that I did get my proud mum moment.
Instead of swallowing his fears and sitting down a ball of anxiety while every one carried on around him, he said no. No, I don’t want to do that. It is simple really. He didn’t want to be part of it and that is okay.
Perhaps we are better at saying no when we are younger and doing what is right for us, before we feel the weight of another person’s expectation upon us. I only went to my own graduation because I wanted my parents to have the opportunity, one I didn’t know if they would get again. It was a strange day celebrating the success of graduating ten months after, where knee-deep in a recession most of the class had struggled to find work - the shiny degree felt worthless before we had been presented with it.
Whilst I don’t want to beat myself up for doing things that didn’t feel right for me, I should be proud of myself for not going to the prom. For not forcing myself to buy a dress I couldn’t afford just to stand in the corner and sway unenthusiastically. I didn’t want to be there. I did the right thing.
So like the prom, I may not have the photos but I am proud of him. I am proud of him for standing up for himself, for listening to his body and creating boundaries.
As usual he is the one teaching me we don’t have to fulfil others expectations of us, this is our life and perhaps sometimes it’s okay to say ‘No’.
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I was wondering about this just the other day! I was talking to my husband about how happy I am to see our son clearly say 'NO' when interacting with his friends. It was reassuring to see that he was clear about what he wanted to do, or not do, and when his friend suggested he try something he didn't hesitate and stepped away. I wonder how long this will last...and I really hope it WILL last, because as adults I think we are socialised out of this. We're encouraged to take part in things we don't want to all the time, and I wonder when this kicks in for the little ones? Well done to your little boy for knowing what feels good to him and what dosen't! That's wonderful. I really hope he holds on to that, and no doubt with your positive encouragement he will. Sometimes I worry that our boy will miss out on some experiences that are actually fun, because he often defaults to 'no', and he needs more time to feel comfortable in a new experience. Thing is, I know that its more of a trigger for me when he says no, because I'm a natural extrovert and he's a natural introvert. I'm trying to get that balance of supporting him in his boundaries, but also encouraging him to participate. I'm doing my best to try and notice when I'm being triggered as an extrovert mum and not push my introvert child into situations that are tough, but I also worry about him missing out. I guess it will all come in time, and for now we just focus on the child feeling safe. The feelings of 'not belonging' are also SO universal! I'm super sensitive to this too, having a child of mixed-heritage in a very predominantly white space, and I can relate to the feeling of not connecting to the other parents, which I have with my language barrier. I'm slowly exposing my boy to more social environments, and I see the challenges he has in those environments, and I am learning what it means to parent a sensitive child. I am SO often triggered! That's on me, not him, and for sure something I am working on. When I see how happy and relaxed he is once he's home, surrounded by his stuff, its a world of difference.
Thanks for sharing Kylie Ann - these moments at nursery and kindergarten are really tough spaces to navigate, and the layers of triggering is a bit insane! Our little ones are processing so much, their little nervous systems are so often on over-drive. And ours!!
This is great.. Good on him! 👍 and well done you for not fighting it 💙